by Claire Adams
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “It will be sad to see the legend of Eli Ransom Faust die so soon,” Jax says. “After he loses, I suggest you both leave town.”
With that, he turns and walks away.
* * *
I get to Eli’s place and my heart is banging against my ribcage. His new and surprisingly fuel-efficient sedan is parked out front.
The walk to his building is difficult. It’s hard to breathe.
When I get to the door, I ring the bell.
“Just a minute!” Eli calls from inside. He opens the door a second later and I push past him before he can say anything, flipping the living room light back on as I pass.
“There’s something you and I need to talk about,” I tell him.
“Okay,” Eli says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “What’s on your mind?”
I start, “I ran into our mutual friend today at Soeur Torsadée-”
“Oh my God,” he says. “I thought I told you not to go in there anymore.”
“Yeah, but when you didn’t give me a good reason, I ignored you,” I tell him. “Anyway, he told me about your arrangement, and he wanted me to try to talk you out of racing, but that’s when I realized something.”
“What’s that?”
“From the beginning, you’ve always tried to protect me,” I say. “It hasn’t always worked out the way you planned, but you’re the one that bailed me out of jail—I’m still going to want to know how you knew I was in there in the first place, by the way.”
“Police scanner,” he says. “A buddy of mine heard the report and gave me a call.”
“And then when Mick crossed the line—not that I condone violence,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says with a smile.
Am I really doing this?
“Ever since that day at the track, you’ve been hiding something from me, but it wasn’t until Jax sat down at the table that I understood why,” I say.
“I didn’t want you to be scared,” he says.
Suddenly, the words don’t matter so much. Slowly, I step toward Eli and I rest my arms on his shoulders as we kiss.
I tighten my grip on him, and without giving warning, I jump up, wrapping my legs around his waist. Of course, Eli’s not expecting it. He tries to keep his balance, but after a few wobbly steps, he falls backward onto the couch.
We’re laughing and kissing, and I’m still too chicken to say what I came here to say.
He tugs at the bottom of my shirt, bringing the fabric up and over my head. I’m pushing his shirt up with both hands, kissing his stomach, then his chest on my way.
The moment the shirt is over his head my hands descend over the top of his pants, which I unfasten before unzipping and pulling the pants off and tossing them onto the floor behind me.
His throbbing erection strains against the fabric of his plaid boxers and I coax his part from inside as I’m pulling his boxers down. I stop pulling against the boxers somewhere around Eli’s knees, and I guide his tip into my waiting mouth, sucking him gently.
I lift my head off of him just long enough to say, “In the future, though, don’t keep things from me. I’d rather know if I’m in danger than walk around like a naïve idiot.”
“Okay,” he breathes, nodding his head, and I take him into my mouth once more.
As I pull back, I slide my tongue down the length of Eli’s hard-on, tasting the clean, earthy delights of his skin.
I reach his base, and while I stroke him, I run my tongue over his sensitive orbs, softly taking one and then the other into my mouth. His skin is soft, hot.
“Come here,” he says, and he runs his fingers through my short hair.
I kiss his shaft from bottom to top before rising and crawling over him.
“Yes?” I ask, shaking my butt.
He chuckles and pulls me toward him, kissing me with a fiery intensity that makes me want to melt. He wraps his arms around me, and I look down at his gorgeous body.
Eli doesn’t say anything; he only smiles as he reaches down my front, grazing my nipples on his way, and undoes my pants. I wiggle my butt a little bit more to encourage the fabric to come off easily.
By the time I’ve kicked my pants off, I’m tired of waiting. Moving the fabric of my panties off to one side, I settle over Eli and lower myself onto him, his thick shaft sliding easily into my wetness.
Feeling him inside me now, knowing what I know, it feels different. Every sensation comes through my body with an intensity I hadn’t expected, much less was prepared for.
Eli runs his hand through the hair at the back of my head and pulls me closer, kissing me deeply, and my legs are already starting to shake as I tell him what’s on my mind.
“I love you,” I whisper as I pull away from his lips.
The moment the words are out, I feel my whole body growing warmer with a mixture of thrill and embarrassment.
“I love you, too,” he says, and he pulls me so close, our bodies moving in perfect rhythm with each other.
I gasp as my senses propel me past the point my body would normally dissolve into orgasm, and the feeling just keeps rising.
I’m trying to say something, but the words won’t come out as that first jolt hits and I’m riding Eli hard as I come with such force I’m a little afraid I might pass out, though I don’t.
His eyes are piercing as he watches me, and right when it feels like my body’s given all it can, his arms tighten around me, and he rises with me, first sitting and now standing as I cling to him.
His hands slide down my back and under my butt, and he lifts me up and down his shaft.
I lean back to look him in the eyes, my hands caressing his hair, his stubbly face. His arms are so strong, supporting me.
With me still cradled in his arms, Eli carries me from the living room into his bedroom, and he lies me down on the bed.
“Mind if I…” he starts, glancing down at my panties.
I nod as he pulls out of me slowly. It only takes a few seconds before he’s slid my panties off of me, but in that time, my core aches for his return.
Eli runs the palm of one hand down between my breasts, and he presses himself into me again as I stretch my arms over the soft fabric of his duvet.
There’s a light breeze coming through the open window, and it offers a perfect contrast against the heat of our sweating bodies.
The cool air hardens my nipples, though Eli’s quick to warm them up again with his hot mouth. Not that that softens them any.
I drape my arms loosely over his shoulders, just letting myself be consumed by the force of the passion between us.
The muscles across his shoulders begin to tense and his tempo increases. I’m kissing him on the mouth, one hand on each side of his head as I adore this beautiful man, my protector, my love.
He’s breathing so heavy now, and I can feel my own body responding.
My fingernails curl into the skin of his back and he’s entering me so hard, so deep. I’m just trying to keep breathing as Eli’s mouth comes open and as he gasps, I can feel new warmth inside of me.
Every inch of me is swirling energy as my body gives way, and my head presses hard against the mattress beneath me.
I’m pulling him into me with every part of me as I come once more and I’m beyond breath.
As the feeling begins to fade, Eli slowly pulls out of me, kissing me softly on the lips as he does. With a gentle sigh, he lies next to me, and I crawl into his strong arms.
We drift to sleep in a much better world than the one we woke up to.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Race
Eli
It’s almost midnight, and I’m pacing over the oil-stained concrete of the shop. Kate’s leaning against the door of her car while Mick spins his keychain around his finger on the other side of the shop.
The call was supposed to come in before now.
The Chevelle’s already loaded onto the back of the flatbed. Everyt
hing’s ready to go. We just don’t know where.
“You don’t think he’d-” Kate starts, but stops herself.
“What?” I ask, finally stopping long enough to stand in one place.
“I don’t know,” she says. “You don’t think Jax would just not give you the information and then say that you forfeited, would he?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that guy,” Mick says.
The thought had crossed my mind. “There’s not much we can do about that if he does. All we can do is wait and hope for the best.”
It’s so quiet in here, the sound of my shoes on the concrete as I resume my pacing is almost painfully loud. Of course, with sweaty palms, dry throat, and the taste of pennies in my mouth, it’s also possible my adrenaline’s just in overdrive.
My phone buzzes and it’s in my hand and out of my pocket before the second ring.
“Ransom,” I answer.
“Entrance to Ghost Town,” the woman’s voice says. “You have ten minutes. Don’t bother with the truck. You won’t make it in time.”
I hang up the phone.
“We need to get the Chevelle off the truck right now,” I bark. “They’re doing it in Ghost Town. We only have ten minutes to get there.”
Kate and Mick spring into action. The two of them focus on getting the ramps unfastened and in position while I uncover the car.
I get in and back the car down the ramp. There’s no time to open the window, so I crack my door, saying, “Get in.”
The passenger’s seat is sitting in one corner of the shop, but there’s no other option if I’m going to have any friendly faces waiting for me at the finish line.
Kate quickly gets in on the passenger’s side, but Mick says, “Just go. I’ll meet you at the finish line.”
I close my door and reverse out of the shop before flipping the car around with a J-turn.
The “entrance” isn’t anything official. It’s actually just a particularly large graffito reading, “Welcome to Ghost Town,” written across the side of a building.
What makes me nervous is that Ghost Town is hardly a secret. It’s where I took Kate on her first chase, and it’s where she got pulled over and arrested. Even before that, though, too many people started going through there, and always for something that comes with a jail term attached to it.
I don’t know if it takes ten minutes to find the crowd, but there’s at least one car parked in the road—all the others are pulled off to the side.
“I’m going to have to let you out and then roll up,” I tell Kate. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take the other cars to get here, but I doubt we’re going to wait long.”
“Okay,” she says. “Also, I should probably tell you…” she trails off.
“What?”
“Nothing. We can talk about it after you win.”
“Anything I should be worried about?”
“No,” she says as I come to a stop about twenty feet behind the ’05 Nissan 350Z Twin Turbo on the road ahead. “Just focus on the moment and have fun,” she says, then gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before climbing out of the car.
I pull up to the line.
Glancing over, the guy in the Nissan isn’t Jax.
I take a look at my gauges. Fuel’s a bit low, but unless this race turns into a marathon, I should be all right. I topped off my nitrous this morning.
Headlights appear a little ways behind me and I’m looking in my mirror to make sure it’s not a cop. It’s not, but that’s hardly a relief.
The car pulling up next to me is a clearly modded-up Mercedes-Benz C63 AMG.
She’s not Jax, either.
When Jax does finally pull up after another minute, though, I kind of wish I’d elected to leave town.
The bastard’s pulling up in a Pagani Zonda. Even if he never added so much as a removable cup holder, the guy’s sitting in almost two million dollars’ worth of car. As he releases his nitrous purge, I think it’s safe to say the thing’s not stock.
My phone rings in my pocket, but I let it go to voicemail. Whoever’s calling, they can wait. Of course, when my phone rings again and Jax honks his horn, I change my mind.
“Ransom,” I answer.
“The race will end where it begins,” the woman’s voice says. “You will follow the course. Each checkpoint is being monitored. Any missed checkpoint will disqualify you.”
“How’s it marked this time?” I ask, but she’s already hung up.
Oh well, worth a shot.
A new man in a dark suit walks out into the middle of the road. He points to Jax and immediately raises and drops his hands.
I probably don’t lose more than half a second or so with the unexpected start, but it’s enough time for Jax to get off the line and out in front of the pack.
The Nissan hits his nitrous almost immediately, and almost catches up to Jax. When the Zonda takes a hard left, though, the Nissan cruises right through the intersection, apparently disqualifying him from the race.
We’re only about ten seconds in.
I slow for the turn Jax made, but I’m not seeing any signs. It wouldn’t surprise me if the rules applied to everyone but Jax.
It’s not until I’m almost on top of the turn that I see the yellow arrow painted on top of the yellow crosswalk sign. I manage to make the turn, but I lose a lot of speed in the process.
Jax’s headlights are at least a block ahead, and I’m just hoping this race is a long one; otherwise, it’s already over.
I gain a little bit of ground, but the next corner throws me as the red arrow is painted over a stop sign.
Jax isn’t taking any chances.
I come around the next corner, only I don’t see Jax’s taillights. I was going to use him to tell where to turn, but he’s already made his next one. I’m looking for any signs at all when I spot the dark blue arrow on the pavement pointing right before the next intersection.
Jax is keeping a sizeable lead, but I manage to whittle it down a little on this next straight. I’m not looking at my speed, but we’ve got to be doing well over a hundred.
Jax takes the next turn, the light weight of his car meaning he doesn’t have to slow down nearly as much as I do, and any distance I managed to make up is lost again.
As I make the turn, he’s a full block ahead of me now. My thumb is hovering over the nitrous, but it’s too soon. Without being able to see the signs, I’m going to have to wait until the next checkpoint is the finish line.
The woman in the AMG apparently comes to a different conclusion, though, as she speeds past me.
I’m half-expecting her to cruise past the next turn just like the Nissan did on the first one, but she stays right on Jax’s tail as she takes the corner.
I come around a few seconds later to find the AMG in a cloud of smoke, facing the wrong way. Her tires spin as she flips her car around, but I’m already past her, Jax’s taillights now less than a block ahead.
He takes his turn a bit too wide, allowing me to close the gap even more as I come around the corner, myself.
We’re nearing the entrance to Ghost Town, though there’s no way to tell if the next turn is going to take us in that direction, and I’ve got my foot down hard.
I’m only about thirty feet behind Jax when his brake lights come on. He drifts over to the left side of the road in preparation for his turn, but I stay on the inside.
He turns too wide yet again, and I’m neck-and-neck with him through the corner.
The finish line is two blocks straight ahead, and I hit my nitrous.
For the first time in the race, I have the lead, but I can hear the chirp of Jax’s tires behind me as he comes down on his own nitrous. He doesn’t swerve as he comes up behind me.
The front of his car comes under the rear of mine, giving me enough of a bump that I have to really work the wheel to keep from spinning out as Jax comes up the side of me.
As we cross the line, I honestly don’t know who made it first.
I ease off the throttle and take a few deep breaths.
Ahead of me, Jax spins around and heads back toward the start/finish line. Once I’ve lowered my speed enough, I follow suit.
By the time I’m parked and out of my car, Jax is barking orders into his phone.
“I don’t care if they both cut for the border with a police escort. You find them and bring me my cars!” he shouts and throws his phone hard at the ground. “And you!” he says, coming toward me. “Let’s not make a big thing out of this. I have other fish to gut and fry tonight.”
The two-dozen or so people crowded around go into a frenzied uproar, some claiming Jax won, others claiming I held onto the lead across the line.
After ten seconds of deafening argument, Jax holds up both his hands, silencing the crowd.
We don’t have time for this. We’ve got to get out of here.
If he won, he won. I’m not going to be a crybaby about it. But that seems like the sort of thing we can figure out when we’re not all standing around at the scene of the race, waiting to get busted.
A hand grips my wrist and I turn around to find Kate standing there.
“You won,” she says. “It was only the difference of about a foot, but you won.”
“Hey, Jax,” I say, “it sounds to me like you just lost your Zonda.”
Jax closes the distance between us in less than a second, and he’s standing with his face only about an inch or two from mine.
“You’ll understand if I don’t take your girlfriend’s word for it,” he says. “Ty!” he calls out.
A moment later, that same bodyguard who had his gun against my head recently walks up. Jax backs out of my face and turns toward his lackey. “Who won it?”
Without hesitation, the sycophant cries, “You did!”
The crowd is a mix of cheers and jeers, and I’m looking over my shoulder for one last look at my beautiful car.
“Eli?” Kate says.
“Hold on just a second,” I tell her.
“You remember how I wanted to tell you something before the race?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Hey!” a sharp woman’s voice comes from behind me.